


Take Care, Alright?

by joshlerhoe



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Infidelity, M/M, Rick's age is uncertain, Unrequited Love, mentions of Lucille
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 05:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14157315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joshlerhoe/pseuds/joshlerhoe
Summary: Negan is quite the selfish man.





	Take Care, Alright?

**Author's Note:**

> I write this in like 2 hours, I can't read, and the guy Rick mentions is Daryl, just so were all clear.

The musk of sex hung heavy in the post-coital air of the shabby motel room, ceiling fan above the occupants of the bed turning slowly. 

Negan couldn’t move, nor did he really care to. The watch on the wrist of young man beneath him read 2:42 AM, far past the time he told his wife he’d be home from a double shift at the bar. She could only buy his bullshit excuses for being late every night for so long before she’d start to wise up to his infidelity. Shit, knowing her, she’d figured it out the first time he said someone was a no show so he had to pick up a shift, but just decided not to confront him about it for whatever reason. Always so smart his Lucille, so it begs the question: If she’s so smart like she is, why the hell marry someone like him?

Fingers curled into the damp hair at the scruff of his neck, caressing the dewy skin with such tender care. He closed his eyes and hummed at the treatment, nuzzling into the young man’s chest.

Lucille never held him after they fucked, never pet his hair, never kissed his cheeks.

But his boy did.

He never knew how much he liked being coddled like this until after he met him. Hell, he never knew he was into men, let alone younger men, until he saw him sitting on that barstool, flashing a fake ID and a pearly smile, asking for a Caribou Lou.

And at that exact moment, Negan knew this boy was something special, something he couldn’t let go.

Lucille never had anything stronger than a Mike’s Lemonade.

This boy wasn’t afraid of a total blackout.

He liked that apparently.

But none of that really mattered now.

What matters now is the arm wrapped around his shoulders, and the lips pressing butterfly kisses to his crown. His own arms were tangled around the young man, holding onto any pieces of exposed skin he could touch, savoring the warmth.

He’s so warm.

He can feel the warmth deep inside, in a place his wife couldn’t touch.

“Rick?” His voice was minute in the saccharine atmosphere, but enough to garner attention.

“Hm?” He didn’t sound too interested, a little too tired for conversation, but Negan went on, always unable to stop once he’s started.

“You ever wonder what it would be like to-,”

“No, I don’t.” His voice was unwavering, closed off. That was something even Negan could pick up on.

He didn’t speak. But he thought about his wife. His lovely, intelligent, dutiful wife waiting for him back home, maybe staring at the clock waiting for a phone call, or sleeping fitfully on his side of the bed, wearing one of his sweaters that swallowed her whole. It was always so adorable when she would wear his clothes. Like a dedicated wife.

Could Rick wear his sweaters? Would they swallow him whole too? Could they get blackout drunk together and share the bathroom as they threw it all up? Could they spend rainy Sundays making slow, sweet love to each other, cuddling up under the christened blankets? 

Could he ever do to Rick what he does to Lucille? Could he lie to Rick of his whereabouts?

No. He could never to that.

But he is doing just that.

But Rick is different. He’s special.

Negan sighed.

“Rick?”

“What now?” He sounded annoyed. Negan loved it when he gave him attitude, lit a fire in his belly. And in his heart.

“If I left my wife...would you be mine?”

 

His words hung around the like last guest at a party at 5 AM who just couldn’t take the hint. Like the residue of toilet water in your hair the next day. Like a hangover that just wouldn’t quit.

Rick sat himself up, leading back against the headboard, jostling Negan out his his selfish cocoon.

Looking into Rick’s eyes was a fear he’d never felt. Not when standing at the altar with a woman he wasn’t sure he loved, but sure loved him. Not when renting his first apartment as a married man. Not when faced of the uncertainty of his life.

No, this was pure terror.

Rick’s eyes, usually the color of the july sky, now were placid and icy, not a hint of emotion in them.

Rick spoke his words carefully, each one a bullet out the chamber.

“No, I wouldn’t. I don’t love you, and I don’t know where you got the idea that I did.”

No Lucille. No Rick.

Negan felt hollow.

He couldn’t fight the tears brimming his lashes.

“I-I don’t understand…” Rick sighed and pushed him away, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, body bare.

“Rick, what about all that stuff? You’re always hugging me, you hold me after, kiss me, you said-,” Rick turned on him like a viper, spitting venom with reckless abandon.

“Because you pay me! That’s our terms! $200 for fucking, all kissing, cuddling, and pillowtalk is an extra $100! Shit, if I wanted more money, I shoulda charged extra for you telling me all your life problems like I’m goddamn Dr. Phil. Your poor wife waiting up all night while you’re railing me isn’t exactly a conversation I wanna have every fucking time we meet up. I blow you, you pay me, that’s our relationship!”

Rick was dressed by the time he’d finished laying into the dumbfounded man on the bed, slipping into his shoes and jacket.

Negan had nothing to say.

His heart was crushed, and he deserved it.

It this how she felt? Waiting up at night while he was fucking a boy with a dubious birthday on his ID?

Karma really is a bitch, ain’t she?

“Look Negan, out of all my clients, I gotta say you’re the most...generous, but this is just my job. My hearts with someone else, someone who really understands, someone who walks in my shoes,” Rick glances down at his watch, huffing a bit. “And he’s waiting for me.”

The tears rolled freely down Negan’s cheeks, the last pleadings of a desperate man with nothing left to lose.

“Can you just...try? Try to love me back?”

Rick exhaled, sorry blues meeting anguished hazels. He sorrowfully shook his head, eyes misty.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. If I did, I would be just like you.”

That was the final knife in Negan’s chest. The killing blow.

How could he want that for Rick? To be just like him? What a selfish man he was.

“We meeting Friday night?”

Negan nodded, but he was numb.

Lifeless.

“Okay, well, take care, alright?” 

And just like that, he was alone.

 

He didn’t move from that bed, the sheets still smelling of Rick, still smelled of what they’d done, and he couldn’t let go of that. He couldn’t lose it. If he did, he would have nothing.

He’d all but abandoned his wife, a woman he’d never truly loved, and never had the boy who held his heart.

All he had now was this dirty motel bed, a shrine to his love for a whore.

He didn’t go home, didn’t call.

He waited for Friday.


End file.
